October 16, 2003
Not good news from the doctor. Have to have an angiogram (sp?) next Wednesday. Evidently, the stress test showed “reversible” something, and is “worrisome for ischemia in the anterior wall.” Stats are 92% for having it. When the doctor described the procedure (they insert a Fantastic Voyage spaceship in an artery in my groin area) and I grimaced, he said, “What’s wrong?” And I said, “Couldn’t you pick a less squeamish area to invade, like one of my eyeballs?” He didn’t get it —that it was a joke. I swear, most medical people have had humor bypasses.

Drove home last night with the usual emotions. “I’m going to die.” and “Look at that sunset. It may be the last one I ever see,” and “what does that doctor know? I should get a second opinion.” Running through the gamut of the four stages, over and over. Rage, fear, denial and acceptance.” By the time I got home I was resigned to my fate.

Need to cancel all of my appointments for next weekend. Had plans to go to Tucson for a writer’s conference.

Fortunately, the CG book is done. I need to do a foil stamp illustration for the hardcover, and I’m getting a quote from a famous author, but other than that, it’s in the can.

Got up yesterday and decided to redo the Hanska Slough painting (this is before the doctor’s appointment). Whipped it out and brought the original up to the office for Gus to scan. He hates this, because the scanner isn’t big enough and he has to scan it in pieces and then put it back together in photoshop. Looks good, though. Glad I did it.

“Live every day like it’s your last because one day, you’ll be right.”
—Ray Charles